By by Stephanie D. Lewis
Alexa, Meet Aviva!
“Alexa, What Time Is It?” It’s Time for a Jewish Smart House!
One day I decided that as cool as Alexa was, she’d be much more cool-ish if she were Jewish! Now introducing Aviva! The Know-It-All Maven more intelligent than all other digital personal assistants put together.
ME: Aviva, what’s the temperature in the family room? I’m feeling a slight draft in here.
AVIVA: It’s 83 degrees. I’ll go put on my sweater.
ME: Good girl. Could you close that back sliding screen door too?
AVIVA: You’ve been stuck inside writing your narishkeit all day, would a little fresh air kill you?
ME: You’re right. Aviva, how many calories are in spinach cheese omelet?
AVIVA: Calories? You shouldn’t concern yourself. You’re much too thin. But oy, eating so many eggs with your cholesterol total?
ME: OMG, that’s right! Aviva, what are my current HDL, LDL and triglycerides levels?
AVIVA: Numbers Shnumbers! Why worry your shayna punim about such mishagoss, Bubula? That’s what the medical profession is for. Now if you had a son-in-law who was a doctor, he’d be such a useful mensch. Not like that lazy what’s-his-name your daughter is dating . . . that skinny, poor tailor.
ME: You mean Michael? Even a poor tailor is entitled to some happiness. Besides, they’re just children.
AVIVA: From such children come other children. (Okay, alright, so what if I programmed a bit too much Fiddler on the Roof into her?)
ME: Aviva, what time does Shabbat end tonight?
AVIVA: If your windows weren’t so filthy dirty, I might be able to see if the three stars have come out yet. Why?
ME: I’d like to warm up some chicken soup for dinner.
AVIVA: Ohhh, so the stove you can’t touch, but me, an electrical gadget — you can hock mier en chinik and noodge me forever on a Saturday afternoon?
ME: My goodness, you’re right. I should be more observant and ask a gentile instead. Please fetch Alexa out from my nightstand drawer.
AVIVA: Forget about that shiksa. Such a clever contraption without contraception — got herself knocked-up and ran off with that no-good butcher, Lazar Wolf. She’s dead to us now. You have other children at home. Go home, Golde.
ME: Aviva, you’re mixing everything up. And also you’re mistaking a fictional Jewish musical for my real life. Shabbat has officially ended, so please clean the lint off the carpets.
AVIVA: And you’re mistaking a Jewish American Virtual Princess for a vacuum. Shavua Tov. Now whip me up a noodle kugel!
Stephanie D. Lewis writes comedy for The Huffington Post and pens her humor at OnceUponYourPrime.com.
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